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So this is future!fic, in a ~handwavy future~ far enough that Nick’s moved on from Breakfast and being in the tabs all the time, but not far enough that I wouldn’t want to read about him (though I used to read Ian McKellen fic, but that’s neither here nor there.)
Anyway, Nick’s at the age and point in his career where he’s finally ready to write his book, and everyone in the industry’s kind of excited about it, because who doesn’t love a good showbiz tell-all? And considering the company he kept and how many times he talked about snogging celebs on air, the book’s guaranteed to be good.
Maybe the book coincides with Nick’s mid-life crisis - the proper one, not the one he always joked about having back when he was a 30 year-old trying to keep up with teenaged popstars and single-handedly lower the average age of the audience of the most prestigious breakfast show in Britain. Maybe he’s just gotten through a messy divorce. Maybe he’s got a kid who’s getting to that age where Nick’s stopped being his hero and started to be the embarrassing parent. Anyway, the book is coming out, and a number of current and former celebrities’ agents are desperate to get their hands on advance copies to check if they need to do any pre-emptive damage control.
And so one day, Harry Styles, former-teenage-boyband-heartthrob-turned-Hollywood-wonderboy (thanks for everything, Harvey Weinstein) plops his arse into his agent’s couch and props his feet up on her coffee table, as per, and nudges a pile of magazines aside to reveal Nick’s book underneath.
It takes a while for him to work out what it is - there’s no picture on the cover, it’s one of those temporary mock-ups - but when he does he immediately sits up straight and his heart starts pounding and his hands kind of get clammy, because. He’s done it. Oh god, Nick’s done it, he’s written a book, he’s written HIS book, and Harry’s not talked to Nick in years - they kind of drifted apart after Nick got married and Harry moved to LA for good – those two events being utterly, completely, absolutely unrelated, of course - but Harry’s been keeping track from afar. His mum and Gemma and Niall and Zayn give him updates from time to time, and yeah, okay, sometimes when it’s late in his hotel room on a long shoot he googles Nick, too, the same way he does Louis or Liam. But he had no idea Nick was writing THE BOOK. It’s all going to come out, oh god, he’s made it all these years without ever having to actually come out and now it’s happening and it’s the worst timing ever and he needs to call people.
So Harry’s working himself into a right state, all by himself on his agent’s couch, all kinds of panicky feelings swirling up in a way he hasn’t felt since he was in the band, maybe since Nick the first time around, and there’s anger too, that Nick would do this to him, that Nick wouldn’t even give him a courtesy call to let him know - Nick probably doesn’t have his number anymore but even then, he could have had his people call Harry’s people. Since apparently that’s what they’ve come to.
Harry feels angry and scared and so fucking betrayed, and it’s really kind of taking him by surprise how strongly he’s reacting to this - it’s hardly the first time someone’s sold a story about him, but. Never Nick. Nick was… He never thought he’d have to worry about Nick.
Harry’s up and stomping towards the door with the book in hand when his agent - Kate - walks back in with her assistants in tow.
"Sorry for the wait, Harry, I had something to-"
Harry interrupts, waving the book in her face.
"When were you going to tell me about this?" Years in the industry and he clearly still hasn’t mastered the angry tantrum, because none of the assistants even blink. He’d be annoyed if he weren’t having an actual crisis.
"Oh, you found it!" Kate says, and waves a hand around dismissively.
"How long has this been lying under your magazines? You didn’t think maybe you should warn me?"
"Harry, dear, don’t work yourself up! It’s all fine!"
Harry’s kind of glad she’s reacting so calmly, because they need someone to be thinking rationally about this if they’re going to have to go to DEFCON 1 while he’s supposed to be promoting his movie and doing the awards circuit. Bloody Nick. They’d all said Harry actually had a shot at an Oscar nom this time, that it would be the one that finally got him taken seriously. He’d put on weight and learnt the violin and everything!
Harry takes a deep breath, and then he goes, “Okay then, tell me the plan,” and Kate starts talking about the promo schedule for the movie and the various events he should be going to over the next weeks.
Harry interrupts her: “No, I know that! I mean about the book! Do we need to put out a statement? Have you been in touch with Nick’s people?”
"What for?"
Harry can’t believe she’s being so flippant. “Nick’s book! The stories! Damage control, you know?” No matter how liberal the Academy’s gotten in the past decade, stories about blowjobs in the Brits toilets aren’t the kind of publicity you need going into Oscars season.
"Harry, darling," she says. "There’s no need for damage control. There’s no story."
"What d’you mean, no story? He left out the Brits? What about that time with the-"
"No Brits," Kate agrees, looking at Harry a little oddly. "Nor anything else. I thought there might be, obviously, which is why I procured an advance copy. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry for no reason."
Harry still doesn’t get it. “But, I. I mean. There has to be something.” He and Nick were having semi-public sex practically under the tabs' noses for years. They had every tongue in Britain wagging, for god’s sake.
Kate’s face is doing her sympathetic ‘I got the call and it’s not good’ face now. “Oh darling, I was wrong, wasn’t I,” she says. “I thought you’d be pleased. You’re not in it at all.”
Harry’s mouth drops open. He can’t believe his ears. “At all?”
*
So, yes, it turns out Nick left Harry out of his book. Not entirely - Harry borrows Kate’s copy and reads it cover to cover, and he’s definitely in there. There are passing mentions of One Direction during the Breakfast Show years, of course, because they were at the heart of youth culture. And Harry’s the “friend” Nick goes shopping with on page 78, and the “friend” who pukes in Kate Moss’ flowerbeds on page 92, and the “[name redacted]” who gives Nick a sneaky handjob under his Burberry’s coat at a movie premiere on page 125. And there are all the moments Harry recognizes, conversations he participated in; parties he remembers being at; scenes he remembers witnessing. But Nick’s written him out of them all.
It hurts. It hurts a lot, it hurts so much more than Harry thought it would, considering how little time he’s spent thinking about Nick in recent years. (In fact, Harry’s spent a lot of time actively not thinking about Nick.) So Harry does the only logical thing he can think of - well, the only thing he can think of. He pulls a few strings, gets Nick’s number, and the next time he’s alone in a hotel room he downs a few drinks and calls him.
But Harry’s shit at figuring out time differences even after all these years and he calls Nick’s home when Nick’s not there, Nick’s kid picking up and telling Harry he’ll pass his message along and then deliberately “forgetting” because he and Nick are in a protracted fight about something stupid again. So Harry thinks Nick doesn’t want to even speak to him, and gets more and more worked up. Meanwhile, Nick never even knew Harry called.
Obviously, it comes to a head when Harry’s back in the UK, doing promo/working the awards circuit/visiting his family, and inevitably runs into Nick at an event somewhere.
Cue the big dramatic reunion scene! Harry’s so fucking pissed off at this point, and he’s spent so long going back over all the moments he and Nick were together that Nick didn’t mention, or didn’t think were important enough to remember in the first place, it’s like he’s been having a conversation with Nick in his head that he can just continue when he sees Nick in person. He doesn’t even think about the fact that Nick quite simply has not heard of Harry Styles in years.
He just barrels into Nick as soon as he sees him and grabs him by the lapels, not sparing a glance for the model Nick’s showed up with. Some things never change, Harry thinks as he drags a flabbergasted Nick backstage.
Nick’s letting himself be pushed and pulled into a random green room, and once Harry’s closed the door, he’s like, “Whoa, hello there, popstar! Um, long time no see?”
Harry doesn’t let Nick get another word in before he starts talking, as fast as he’s able to.
"So, what, did you forget? Or maybe it was too embarrassing after all, your years of getting off with a boy band popstar? Too uncool, right?”
He’s properly fuming, and Nick’s just staring at him. “Harry, what is this- Wait, is this about the book?”
"Of course it’s about the book, Nick, what else would it be? Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Because I remember, Nick. I remember every single time. I was bloody there, alright."
Harry’s trying to keep himself collected because he’s got things to say, serious things, and he’s not a kid anymore, he won’t let himself be placated. But being around Nick always made him feel like a kid, and apparently time and distance haven’t changed that. He can feel himself getting really overwhelmed despite his best efforts. It’s embarrassing. He’s feeling so many things at once; tiredness from not sleeping properly for days from this whole thing, and jetlag, and stress from the award, and anger at Nick, and nostalgia because here they are, sneaking around at events like he’s 20 again. Somewhat humiliatingly there’s also low-level arousal in there, because when Harry finally gets a proper look at Nick he notices the gorgeous suit Nick’s wearing and how good Nick looks, thicker build and receding hairline and all.
Oh god, Harry realizes. He’s still into Nick. This is ridiculous. It’s been years, for god’s sake!
He starts laughing slightly hysterically, and Nick’s still just looking at him, and Harry tries to calm down and say, “I was there, Nick- it happened, you can’t just write me of-mmpf!”
Nick cuts Harry off with his mouth. On Harry’s mouth.
And Harry just grabs at Nick’s shoulders and kisses Nick back, all desperate and so fucking familiar, and it’s so unfair, it’s just so fucking unfair that Harry is back here again, in this exact situation, so many years later. “Oh darling, life’s a circle, you can’t just run away,” his mother told him back then but Harry didn’t believe her.
Look where it got him. Right back at square one.
So Harry gives himself up to it, keeps kissing Nick until they’re both breathless and Nick draws back. He takes Harry’s face in his hands, and all low and raspy and breathless he says, “You really think I forgot you?”
"You didn’t?" Harry whispers, matching Nick’s hushed tone.
"I wish I could have done," Nick replies.
"But, the book-"
"I thought you wouldn’t want me to mention you," Nick says. "An aging DJ? I didn’t want to hurt your career. Not the year you’ve got a shot at an Oscar."
Harry’s surprise must show on his face - how he keeps getting acting jobs, he’s not sure - because Nick starts smiling. “What, did you think I didn’t know? I don’t live under a rock, Hazza.”
The nickname makes Harry’s stomach jump. “You wrote about all the others,” he insists.
Nick kind of rolls his eyes. “They’re grateful for the publicity, or they’ll take it up with my publisher. We’ve heard from some of them already. I don’t care about them either way. It’s different with you.”
Harry’s about to say something else – what, he’s not quite sure yet - when someone knocks on the door. They jump a foot further apart, force of habit still, even after all these years, but whoever it is just opens the door a crack, telling them the ceremony’s starting, and can they please rejoin their tables.
They look at each other, slightly red-faced and embarrassed.
"We better go, then," Nick says. "Wouldn’t want to keep you from collecting yet another award."
"We could. Do you want to get a drink, afterwards?" Harry says. "Which after party are you going to?"
"Oh, I don’t know. You might be the same Young Harold, but I’m getting quite old," Nick says. "Might go home right after this, to be honest." He yawns, huge and obviously fake.
"Really, now."
"Oh yes, absolutely," Nick continues. "Kid’s with his father, so’s the dog… It’s straight to bed for me, I think."
There’s a glint in his eye Harry definitely hasn’t forgotten, but Nick still runs his hand along Harry’s tie, like he’s afraid his meaning wasn’t clear enough.
"Give me your address," Harry says.
*
Harry wakes up to the smell of coffee and bacon and the sound of Nick’s terrible, flat singing. Some things really never change, he thinks, groaning as he gets out of Nick's bed. He’s exhausted and fuzzy from jetlag and sore all over. It's the best he's felt in years.
"You still walk around naked all the time, then?" Nick says when Harry comes into the kitchen. "There could have been a child in here."
"I hope you wouldn’t have been that loud with a child in the house," Harry leers. "And anyway, you told me he was away this weekend."
Nick stays bent over the stove, but he says, “He is now, but he’ll be back later. Maybe you-” He clears his throat. “I mean, if you wanted to, like, stay. Maybe you could meet him,” and something warm and big and a little crazy unfurls in Harry’s chest.
He looks around for a distraction, spotting Nick’s laptop open on the table. There’s a browser window open and Harry doesn’t have his glasses on, but the type’s big and garish enough on the page that he can read the headline anyway.
BACK TO THE FUTURE? Dishevelled Harry Styles and Nick Grimshaw spotted making their way back from backstage area within seconds of each other.
What is this, 2014?
"Just like old times, uh?" Nick’s voice is slightly tense but he leans against Harry, arms around his torso, tucking his chin on Harry’s shoulder.
“No,” Harry says. “Better.”
Maybe he’s going to have to make those calls to his PR team after all. For now, he closes the laptop and turns into Nick’s arms.